I was asked to somehow make Tidus/Seymour work. So I did my best! All reviews, critique or praise are very much appreciated.
Thank you for your time.
There are clawmarks on the headboard.
A light sheet of morning light seeps through the window. It bleaches everything it touches. Silk pours out between them like blood, and suddenly it seems so ghastly just how red those red, red sheets really are.
He watches him breath. Watches him rattle. Watches him shake and move and live.
The night before comes rushing back as he studies the locks of faux-blond hair. The crinkle on his forehead and the tightening of his brows fall in between desperate, hollow cries that echo and thunder and pour off of one another's backs.
And, he is sure, all the while both were wishing that two blue eyes could become just one.
He reaches out, his hand brushing against his face. He's so smooth, so untouched by the wickedness of the world. His innocence should have been charming, but as soon as he cracks open a single blue eye and forces the twitch of a lazy-smile - Seymour hates him.
He hates him. He hates him. He hates him.
Sin no longer swept across the skies.
Two toned eyes had been crushed out, and a smile had been woven on her face. Another cycle would pass, and the beast would rise again with a lion's heart. He had not been the one to take everything beautiful from her and leave her that crumpled mess on the Calm Lands. And the man before him had not been the one to save her, had not been the one to protect her heart and let it die in his taloned hands.
How elegant was the Code of the Guardian; to protect the walking corpse, even at the cost of their own lives. But somehow, now, he finds himself hating the man who helped lead her to her death - who struggle and fought and begged with her not to die, and failed and failed and failed.
Tidus quirks his brow. He speaks like an animal chewing out words.
Seymour puts his hands on his throat.
Blue eyes open wide, his mouth shrivels up scared, and Seymour presses down harder.
He remembers his body beneath him, the struggle, the quickening breaths, the closed eyes and pretending that this doesn'thurtitdoesn'thurt but he did and it does and Seymour presses harder and harder and the other starts to struggle.
"Oh, Son of Jecht," he whispers softly and more honestly than any of the little falsities he kissed across his back. "Will you relax?"
There is no relaxation to be had, and the struggle grows harder and harder but Seymour just finds a smile and leans right up against those animal-eyes and clenched teeth and whispers, "Please. We will both be happier, this way."
And suddenly Tidus knows what he means.
There's a shiver behind his eyes.
The struggle stops.